All I Want for XMas
by Vanessa S. Quest
Summary: Hotch reveals exactly what he wants for X-Mas... and that's more time. UPDATED, yeah, so thanks to reviews I continued this... merry Halloween or something. XP R & R please!
1. Chapter 1

In this moment, Hotch's hands clutched tightly against one lone clammy, pale… arguably lifeless hand. Within that hand was the bone-chilling cold that nothing living could really get to. Closing his eyes he let out a silent prayer. Christmas Eve was not supposed to be like this.

It was not supposed to end this way for a family, and he full-heartedly wished that it wouldn't end this way for a family tonight. Not like this, oh God not like this!

Removing his hands from the deathly still one, his left pointer, middle, and ring fingers dug around for the carotid pulse. His breathing hitched as he felt a soft flutter. He almost couldn't believe it, so he held his breath and continued to hope to feel it again.

"He's still alive!" He called into his radio, he brushed strands of brown hair off of Reid's forehead. "Thank God… he's still alive…" He said more to himself, now taking the steps to assure Reid stayed that way.

Outsider it had been snowing, as it were, five inches had already accumulated in the lawn outside the dock-side warehouse. They had been searching the yard for the better part of an hour, and no one had taken the time to warm up properly. Realizing this was probably for the better, Hotch pushed his frigid cold, wind-chilled hands on top of the red fountain blossoming from Reid's right breast and held tight.

Breathing was hard to see, he probably had a deflated lung, but that unnerving look of a wind-pipe curved toward the left where normally it would run straight? That was all the indication Hotch figured he was going to get.

"Reid, if you can hear me still… hold on. Just keep holding on."

He could see movements, underneath Reid's eyelids, eyes darting back and forth weakly. He wondered what Reid was dreaming about and prayed it wasn't this. Choking back a little, he started to whisper, "Up on the house top, click click click, down through the chimney with good Saint Nick… give him a…"

He heard a different click, and he turned to face what he knew he'd see but fully hoped he'd avoid. The unsub staggering towards him, one Peter Mallard, still wielding an ice-pick, and for crying out loud a fucking red clown nose? Hotch glared, one hand refusing to lift the pressure on Reid's bleeding wound, courtesy of one ice-pick he was sure. The other hand found his gun in his holster and drew.

Peter staggered forward and then dropped just in front of Hotch before uttering a threat or showing a sign of aggression. As he fell, he landed on his own ice-pick, impaling himself with it as he went. What was more startling, more bizarre than this turn of event, had been the wound to the man's back. An explosion of glass fragments, and charred burns to the fabric of his shirt, and for a moment, the rest of the scene before him made sense.

The broken string of Christmas lights, the toppled shelving units, the unplugged, uncoupled cords and then the lightless lights plugged in… he had assumed the man was using those to torture the victims, but maybe it was all that Reid had handy while struggling with Peter in their own intimate dance of survival.

Neither men looked to be winning in the matter, Hotch noted grimly.

How had today led to being so cracked and broken, like countless boxes and shreds of wrapping paper tomorrow would find littering the streets?

They had been given this case two weeks ago, to profile the local threat of a violent rapist. A violent rapist who caused the death of only one victim as of yet, suspected to be one of the very man drunken Santa impersonators who would work for the month then go back to being unemployable for most of the year.

Peter Mallard cleaned up better than that, though. He was a skinny man, not scrawny like Reid seemed at times, but his wiry frame didn't keep much meat on it. He kept himself in clean states, wearing a white wife-beater, red suspenders and red rubber pants with black utility boots. You'd expect him to work on a cranberry farm or with electricity or plumbing with that outfit. Not getting stabby with an ice pick.

Reid gurgled something, it distracted Hotch from staring down at the dead man half a foot away with where his hand landed from his own ankle. He knew he should clear the man, but that would require letting Reid lose more blood, and that was not a price he was willing to pay for procedures.

"Htch…" Reid couldn't force the air out into vowel sounds, so instead the consonants rushed out together in a gurgled garble. "S chrstmas…"

He strained to hear, damn hearing loss made it even harder for him. "Shh, the others will be here soon…"

"Aarhn…" Reid managed to force out a close proximity to his lover's name, "…s't still sn… snowin…?" He blinked, trying to open his eyes. He somehow managed to, but that didn't bring any light to his eyes. It was clear he wasn't able to see.

"Yeah, it's still snowing, Spencer… just hold on and we'll go out to see it." He promised, he turned on the radio, "Where are those medics Morgan?"

"Hotch, they're trying to find your location… Which one did you duck into, man?" His voice was frantic as he demanded more information from Hotch. Morgan knew what was happening, everyone knew how serious Agent Down meant.

It was Seaver's voice over the radio next, which surprised Hotch. It sounded remarkably less tinny that Morgan's as she recounted, "They're in 14G, side door!" With her announcement was a rush of cold air and flecks of snow.

Hotch turned to look at the young agent as she brandished her gun to look around, spotting the two bodies piled less than neatly around Hotch.

"Is he…?"

"Reid's still alive." He announced. Seaver gave a half-nod.

"And Mallard?" Hotch shook his head.

"I can't check, I'm clamping down an artery."

Her own horrified expression at that made him wonder if he said too much, but she pushed forward anyways. Using her foot, she turned the unsub over onto his back and kicked the ice pick from his loose grasp. Bending down she took his pulse, and, finding it absent announced into the radio and to Hotch, "Clear. Mallard is dead."

She retracted her hand and stared in odd fascination at the red nose the man had on, and the antlers headband.

Questions like how did she find them never left Hotch's lips, his focus was solely on Reid, waiting for the slim chance that recognition would meet his gaze instead of a cold search of brown nothingness.

Reid was panting in breaths, and with the door now open and the room chilling faster, Hotch had the luxury of seeing the wisps of white cloud out from his mouth and nose as he exhaled.

"Have you ever heard the story of the Snow Queen, Reid?" Hotch started, then offered, "Of course you have… right… you've read every book in every library you've ever had membership to, haven't you?" He teased. He actually knew the likelihood that Reid had heard the story were pretty minimal. Reading it was also probably out, since he'd stick to Canterbury Tales over Fairytales. "Well, in an Inuit Village lived a little girl and little boy…"

Seaver took her coat off to drape over Reid's form, shivering as she waited for the paramedics to get in there.

Hotch nodded at her in great appreciation. "I know that one, a magic mirror fell on the ground, spreading shards of the magical glass over the village. Three pierced the little boy, one in each eye, and a larger one in his heart."

"That's right…" Hotch instructed Reid, instead of directly communicate with Seaver. "The shards were from the Snow Queen's mirror. The Snow Queen was as beautiful as she was cold, in her mirror she could never see warmth, and once the shards pierced the boy, neither could he. The shard in his heart made him unable to feel warmth either. So, the little boy stayed in the village, unable to see or feel the warmth or love of the people around him. The next winter he set off to find a place that was as cold as he felt, and the young boy was bitterly cold… so he ventured north."

"Reid…? Reid stay with me, I'm telling you a story, so pay attention." Hotch admonished as Reid tried to roll his head to the side. He was met with a weak groan.

Two paramedics rushed in. One set to fast work clamping the artery while the other ventilated the young doctor with a plastic tube and mask hooked to an oxygen tank.

Reid was lifted up, leaving Hotch with his hands soaked red, having warmed a little from being inside Reid, were quickly freezing with exposure to the elements.

"You'd better follow him, sir. He's going to need to hear the end of the story." Ashley offered, spotting Prentiss and Morgan running up to the site.

"How did you find us?" Hotch finally managed to ask the youngest agent on the team.

"The victim, the one who escaped, I asked her if she remembered where she had been held, if she remembered any numbers or the other buildings, and she started going on about the red o painted on the door, like some advent calendar."

"The first victim, from the 14th…"

"After that, determining which 14 it was came from the quadrants. Reid was assigned the water-front so it only makes sense the unsub grabbed him because he was close by and felt afraid of being caught. Dr. Reid… isn't exactly his type, you know?"

"No, no I suppose he isn't much of a feisty red-head." Hotch smiled tiredly.

"Speaking of feisty red heads, there's one who wants an exact explanation of what the hell happened. She is seconded, thirded, and motion carried by the rest of us." Prentiss said, giving Seaver an understanding look and tossing her her own scarf and gloves.

She mouthed a 'thank you' before pulling them on.

"Believe me, so do I. To that effect, where the hell is Reid's back up?" He turned to search for the local sheriff, not finding him there, he opted to leave the warehouse and find him, and the officer who fled at the first signs of trouble.

Silently, in the back on his mind, he kept up his prayer and request to Santa, all he wants for Christmas is Reid to be with him, to have more time with the man he loves so whole-heartedly.

Fin.


	2. Christmas Magic

Christmas Magic

Supervisory Special Agent In Charge Aaron Hotchner had had more than enough of this ho-drum, bumble-fuck of a town that didn't have an adequate hospital in the COUNTY for his lover, his agent, his Reid to be med-evac'ed to.

Aaron Hotchner also didn't much care that his 'unprofessional' behavior might lead to several reprimands, a black smudge on his permanent file (which Garcia would more than certainly correct for him) or that the bastard piss-ant cop back-up, who had out-right FLED from the unsub, was being chewed a new one by his supervisor.

That didn't seem quite good enough. The son of a bitch hadn't even had the balls to say he had EYES on the unsub when he fled, no, he just LEFT Reid, baffled and alone with a psychopathic Santa with an icepick and very little other options for a full and upright life.

If Hotch hadn't been thinking, he'd have already been in a car on the way to the next county over- a drive that without the holidays would fare six hours. With the traffic? With the snow? If he got there before Boxing Day in Canada, which subsequently might have had a hospital closer, he'd have been impressed.

He was thinking though. He was thinking of how this could have been avoided very easily. He was thinking about how he had the rosters and could have switched Reid out to any other area or any other cop except that he knew, he KNEW with a laudable certainty that the unsub would be three sections over, where their informant suggested he would be- despite Reid's geographic profile.

The informant caller that no one had made eyes on, Hotch suddenly realized the bastard who had taken the call had been the same bastard he'd paired with Reid. Why hadn't he picked up on that?

The cop, or more precisely _dirty-cop_ Matthew Orwig was shoved hard into the cinderblock exterior of the warehouse his boss was using to make their 'conversation' more private.

Aaron almost smirked at the dumb-founded look on the sheriff's face as he pulled the cuffs from his belt.

"Agent Hotchner… have you lost your fuckin' mind? What're you doing?"

"Sheriff, I have reason to suspect that your officer is dirty. He fed us misinformation about the location of the unsub that he knew was contrary to our profile because he KNEW we'd have found him if he didn't lie. I don't know what your reasons are yet, but believe me, before we get to the interrogation room, my tech analyst WILL. And THEN you will be charged not just for aiding and abetting a violent criminal, but for attempted murder and so help me… if my agent dies I'll WATCH them administer the needle…"

He roughly closed the cuffs to the point of cut-off circulation, turned the man around and shoved him hard into the wall. He knew the coward hit his head and honestly, he couldn't say he gave a shit. It didn't make him feel even slightly better.

"Rossi, take this piece of work to the station."

Rossi locked eyes with Hotch, the message passed was clear, Rossi's face went solemn, stoic. "Seaver, you're with me." He called over his shoulder.

There was no X-Mas miracle when Garcia arranged for a private helicopter to transport the team to the hospital. Morgan didn't ask if she was a naughty or nice elf. No one had the stones to crack a joke when Reid had looked dead.

It was the quietest, driest three hours any of his agents had spent in the air.

Prentiss squeezed Hotch's wrist as if to remind him that he hadn't lost the ability to feel touch. He knew that though, after all, he could still FEEL Reid's warm body coiled under his fingers, weakly thread a pulse that kept a quiet, slow rhythm.

The most noise outside of the propeller's whirl came from Prentiss's phone as Seaver relayed the confession Rossi eked out of the snively turn-coat. The man managed to be placed on suspension and not a jail-cell, or body block, both of which were far better places for him as far as Hotch was concerned. He hated himself only a little for that level of ice, but as cold as he felt inside…?

He truly felt a kinship for the boy in the tale of the Snow Queen. What he had seen, what he had felt stabbed into him as Reid laid there, the blood and warmth that coursed from him and spilt to such an unforgivable, chill locale as the weather mirrored his own desolation and despair at the very real bleakness he could face once they landed.

Bowed head, he kept up his constant prayer. All he truly wanted for Christmas was his family to be together, safe, _alive_… he'd take alive at this point, really, he wasn't so unable to compromise. He willed himself to remain strong, not to break down in front of the others. He knew once he started, there was no road back. Well, there was one. There was always one…

He whispered below the sounds of the blades as they churned, "Reid…" His own benediction at the end of his verse and if god or santa struck him dead for it, he wasn't about to complain.

When his phone started to ring, his head shot up. He immediately pulled the device and was rewarded with a text message.

"Boy 1der out of surgery" The contact was clearly Garcia, Rossi couldn't even squint to read the letters on his finger-keyboard with his reading glasses on.

Hotch let out a low, long breath, maybe his first of the night. When they finally landed, the hospital had forced holiday cheer pour out their speakers as 'Santa Baby' played.

No one would mention a word as long as their news was good, but if it wasn't? Hotch wasn't about to suspend anyone for an accidental discharge of a gun that happened to hit the speaker or radio that offended his mood so greatly.

He was unsure how his feet kept their forward march and at such a brisk pace no less. His entire body had to have been infused with lead, the industrial revolution played in between his skull and ears as hammer-strikes on anvils replaced his heartbeat. And the ice that ran through his veins was from the snow that cut into him as he just stood there all those hours ago as his lover was whisked to the ER via med-evac.

It had been seven hours, sure the helicopter ride had only been two, but between Reid's leave and the team's? There were five additional hours of explanations, initial interviews, reports… Reid had only been under for four hours, maybe more if they had prepped him mid-flight, med-evacs did have surgeons on the team sometimes. Reid would make him watch Venom 911 on down time sometimes, he'd be there, wrapped in an afghan blanket with some of the ugliest shades of browns and purples and yellows combined in what Spencer had told him was a 'Garter St Entrelac' pattern knit. As he'd lie there, he'd talk about the on-call toxicologists and venom experts who would fly out with the evac units and start the surgical processes to prevent death from various stings and bites. He had systematically dissected the mechanisms for several antivenins used, and for how he systematically learned how to knit one year and made a small fortune on Etsy where he sold hand-made scarves, gloves, and afghans whenever he went on medical leave there-after.

For a moment he wondered the validity of a special-order of yarn in colors that wouldn't clash with his living room décor.

White Christmas was followed by Winter Wonderland and Jingle Bell Rock -one of the dozens of versions undoubtedly recounted by the radio station over the past several hours, came and went before the team of doctors in with Reid left until only one remained.

He fiddled with several items each attached directly to Reid's person before he left the room and addressed the group of three.

"I presume you're here for Spencer Reid?" He looked at them with the same exhaustive expression they wore as people who were forced to work through holiday in grievous situations.

"Yes." Hotch started, he approached, hand already out-stretched to the door, the doctor turned to block it.

"He's still coming out of anesthesia and needs his rest. I understand circumstances like this, the holidays to say the least." He took a steely breath, he met the glare that the man in front of him shot him, unintentional or otherwise, he didn't care. "Spencer underwent surgery for four hours to repair a nick to his brachiocephalic artery, remove the blood that collapsed his right lung field and put pressure on his heart. There is a very real possibility he could crash and for any number of reasons. We haven't established communication with him yet, we do not know the extent of any brain injuries sustained from oxygen deprivation, due to the low level of tissue perfusion any number of his systems could crash."

"When can we go in and see him." Hotch didn't ask, he demanded to know why that man's person was still between him and the door.

"Tomorrow. It's the holiday, go home."

Had the doctor been Grecian, he'd have likened the stare to Medusa's. The look meant to petrify him did nothing though. The words were what cut him.

"He is my home." Hotch's voice, the delivery held no warmth, no sentiment, merely truth. "My son is in Quantico, Virginia with his Aunt probably in bed by now with the same wish I have, that when he wakes up, Spencer and I will be home, the presents will be under the tree, and Christmas will have happened as planned. Now I realize that Spencer isn't about to travel, and that a six year old isn't conducive to a healing environment in an ICU. My son is with his aunt that loves him and will give him a wonderful holiday memory until we get home to have our own celebration. That said, Spencer is not going to wake up alone in there after he was attacked by an asshole in a rubber clown nose and no idea how he even got here or where here even is on CHRISTMAS, so I ask you, WHY are you still standing in my way?"

Morgan took a step forward, "We get that our friend is hurting very bad. We also know what his normal is. We aren't going to push him, we're not going to ask for answers, all we want to do is let him know he isn't alone and that he's safe. We won't all go in, but one of us will be in a chair in that room until he tells us to get the hell out on his own power."

From the left flank position, Prentiss boxed the doctor in squarely to the door with her presence. "If you want your patient to be under the least duress when he does wake up, Aaron here is your best bet at that. My friend and I, here, we're just really big fans of hospital coffee. We're suckers for it. We came for miles just for four or so cups of it."

"You, and only you-" The doctor pointed at Hotch precisely, "-can sit in, but if his vitals make a turn for any reason, you're out. You won't threaten or bully or intimidate my staff, you'll get up and you'll leave. Understood?"

"Absolutely." Aaron's own voice rang with a deathly precision.

"And for the love of god, just let him rest. Don't try to wake him, his body will come around when it's ready to."

"If his eyes flutter I'll hit the call button."

"…And Merry Christmas." The doctor muttered, he shouldered through Morgan to make the rest of his rounds.

Hotch smiled quietly to himself as he opened the door and approached the bed.

The lights were dimmed down low, the room almost took on an orange tint from the minimal, filtered lights that did leak in, even then the vivid red of the packed blood attached to Spencer's IV rack and arm and the green highlights from the ECG made Aaron's own heart sink a little.

He sat beside the lone, silent figure on the bed as a clear plastic face mask fogged every other second with his lover's breath. The doctor hadn't even mentioned transfusions or that Spencer was taken off the intubation.

Aaron took hold of Spencer's right hand in his left, his right hand he placed atop as he gently ran his fingers over the bones beneath them. Limply curled fingers sat unresponsive in his hands as he smiled gently at his lover.

"…The young boy vanished, as if he had been swallowed by the northern walls of white, unforgiving ice and snow. Two years passed, the villagers swore the boy had to have died, but his childhood friend knew better. She knew he couldn't have died, so she went out into the world in search for her dearest friend. At first she traveled west, she traveled for so long she met a man made of stone on an island. There she was told of a magic mirror that never reflected warmth. She was told to travel east, to the isles of wind, that there, there was a divine spirit that would know if her friend truly did live."

He felt his own heart slow to match the gentle rhythm that beeped out in the background, "So she went to the east, it took her three months to venture so far, and when she did, she heard the tale of a beautiful woman who saw only cruelty and was so alone that even her reflection had lost it's ability to show warmth. The kind spirit told the girl that her quest would be longer still, she sent her to the south to meet her brother, for only he knew how to cure such bitterness, and then, once she met him and spoke with him that she would have to venture north, so far north that all other directions would be lost… and so she did. She ventures south. Summer came and as she arrived she met an old soul with eternally youthful features. He told her of a woman he once knew, a woman he had wooed and loved, the only woman he ever loved beside his dear sister, and how she had never known, for he had always loved her from afar, his warmth never to reach her. And so he told her of the many days of his youth he had spent afar until tears of pity came to her eyes, as she cried for the man's plight, he told her to go, to travel to the north, so far to the north that all directions beyond it ceased. And she left that night."

"She traveled day after day, night after night, a winter had come and gone. By time it was fall, she had even walked through her own village on her travels, her parents and friends begged her to stay, but she refused. She continued north, and in the coldest of winters she traveled until she came across a majestic castle of blues and whites. It was exquisite but cold. Inside it, she heard conversations. Talk of how ugly the world was, how cruel, she came forward, her beloved friend had grown from a boy to a young man, and before him sat the snow queen, her majestic grace made it easy to believe how men would travel the world for her. Yet, despite her beauty, the girl felt such sorrow for her, sorrow because she was so very lonely that she had taken her dear friend from her to ease her isolation."

"With a gentle smile, she approached her friend, and upon seeing him, hearing him speak of the travesties of the world, she wept. He asked her why she wept for such a cold, heartless place, but she merely shook her head and told him, 'I'm not crying for the world, I'm crying for those too sad to see the beauty there. Yes there is pain, but that is a sweet reminder of life. Yes there is heart-ache, but that is proof of love. Dear friend, I have missed and loved you for so long,' and as she spoke, her tears cleared away the shards of warped mirror from his eyes, as she held him, her tears jarred the piece in his heart, and again the boy could see and feel warmth, kindness, and love. The snow queen was so moved by the sight, she discarded her mirror. Her own reflection showing her only the form of her own loneliness, the girl told her of a man to the south, so far south that she would feel as if all other directions stopped. She told her that if she went to the south she would find the warmth she had never realized was around her."

Aaron looked at the clock display and gave Spencer's hand a squeeze, "Merry Christmas, Spencer…" he leaned across his lover's sleeping form to plant a gentle kiss to his forehead.

He felt the fingers cupped in both his hands curl slightly.

"Spencer?"

"…Mm, tha's a nice… sto'y…" Came out sleepily, he wasn't entirely sure he had actually heard it or if he had imagined it. "…Naught like… th' vershun …I herdh …growin'up." He slurred.

Aaron leaned past him and hit the call button.

"Oh really? What version did you hear?"

"…Snow Kween… died… when th' boy… left'hr 'lone." He continued, his voice gaining no real clarity, he rolled his head gently to the side, more than clearly still half-asleep.

"Did… you want to stay asleep a bit longer?"

"…Airn, em-eye… dreamin…?"

"I don't know, you might be still, but I am really here, Spencer."

He let his head loll to the side to indicate a nod, "…m too tiiiii'ed… need mahr…"

"It's ok, keep resting." Aaron smiled, his left hand held Spencer's right while his own right hand pushed Spencer's bangs from off his forehead.

He didn't wake up more until well after sun-rise, by time he did, Rossi and Seaver were passing out blankets to their coworkers, clearly resupplied from a secret stash.

"Airn…?" he rasped, exhaustion his one drive that they could all agree upon.

"I'm here, Spencer."

"Can'n reeleh… tok… rii'h… er thin'nk rii'h… somethin' wrongh…"

It took a moment to translate what was said and what he thought was said, but something along the lines that Spencer couldn't talk or think right and a sense that something was wrong came through.

He had fallen asleep shortly after he had said that, but not before a wave of doctors had pushed Aaron out of the room and a battery of tests were run. Two hours later still, they were called into a waiting room intended for private conversations.

"As you're all surely aware by now, Spencer has regained consciousness. Currently, the oxygen therapy is keeping him adequately perfused and his lungs are working on their own. His body is moving in the right direction, there are no outward warning signs so far, and in a few days if all goes well, he may be able to travel via ambulance back to Virginia. That said, we do have some concern about his cognizance."

The team flashed a look between each other, "Go on, doctor." Aaron pushed, he had expected this.

"We ran several comprehensive exams, a PET scan included, there are areas of concern, as you know, he currently is speaking with a slur, this may be due to injuries to his person, or it could be longer-term. Right now it is too soon to assess if this damage is permanent or temporary, or a combination, however through cognitive exams we have determined that he is not functioning in full capacity, he is unable to sequence certain concepts, such as he can't understand that bread and toaster leads to toast, or that rain leads to wet, or that a left followed by another left followed by another left is a right… these reasoning skills, especially when applied to what we know from his file –that he's a genius…"

"He has an IQ of 187, an eidetic memory and can read 20,000 words per minute."

"…He can still read that fast, he also seems able to retain what he does read, but the actual ability to construe meaning from it seems lacking. The areas of his brain that were most damaged look to be the centers for cognitive reasoning and articulation are located in the frontal quadrants, luckily his Circle of Willis has excellent distribution, however, the compromise to his right carotid and right vertebral arteries are hard to determine, our neurologists on staff plan to host a series of interviews with him to determine the extent of this damage and how reversible it is, it is very important that you do not upset him about this. Do not agitate him, do not call him on his questionable reasoning, do not address the differences between what you would expect from him normally and now. Doing so is damaging and could lead to unnecessary stress on his body. He isn't out of the woods by any means, but saying he's made it through the first 24 hours and is awake, there's reason to be optimistic."

The silence was audible as the doctor left the room. Aaron was the first to stand, he seemed intent to bee-line back to Spencer's side before Dave's words caught in the air.

"…If he's not even able to make basic conceptual leaps, in reasoning, you realize he can't be left alone, don't you?"

Aaron's body stiffened.

"Do you think he'll even get why someone walks out of a room if he tells them to leave?" Rossi continued.

"Not now, Dave." Aaron's tense shoulders told a clear story of a person who's barely managed to scrape through the past day let alone look to the future with great certainty. He didn't want to think about this as a permanent thing, what that would mean as far as Spencer's ability to have a relationship with his son, it was there- already that seed in the back of his mind, but still, this was Spencer. He had to be ok, he had to pull through…

"Hotch, he really can't be left alone, someone could ask him what his bank account numbers are, what his pin numbers are and where he keeps his wallet and not get he's being robbed." Morgan chimed.

Prentiss added in, "Morgan shouldn't be left with him unattended."

Seaver walked past Hotch as he hovered by the door.

"Does he even realize that he's alone because we left for the doctor consult? Does that just mean he views each thing as a separate event entirely?" Seaver turned back from the hallway, "I think he's crying."

Aaron's eyes shot wide, he was already in the room before the others made it out of the door to the waiting room.

"Spencer… hey…" He said gently, Seaver had been right, he had been crying.

He wiped at his eyes in frustration, his oxygen mask shifted back and forth before he started to pull at it directly.

"Spencer, what are you doing?"

"Airn?" He locked eyes with his lover, shook his head, "Htch…? Nn-sub nearbyee… gotta fine im…" His eyes started to roll upward. His heart rate picked up, and from his up-right position he fell back limply.

"SPENCER!" Aaron rushed forward, he pushed the mask back over Reid's face and it seemed to instantly slow his heart-rate back to where it had been before. After a handful of moments, his eyes fluttered back open.

"Mah het…" Spencer's right arm flopped weakly to the right of his temple where Aaron assumed he was trying to grasp.

"Your head?"

"Mmhmm… herz…"

"…Hurts?" Aaron confirmed, his lover gave a half-nod, he turned his head to the side to glare at the ECG as it beeped at him angrily. He flinched at each harsh blip. "Spencer, were you dreaming before?"

His lover nodded.

"What about?"

"Kays…"

"The case? What about it?"

"…'Ee waz …outta no wear… off-sir down… 'en it herz… hid mah sholer… goddim in… lies… too bride… burn smell… pick nod in… sholer… floor…"

"He came out of nowhere, you thought your backup was hurt- that he was down?"

Spencer nodded.

"Then you got that?" He gestured to Spencer's shoulder that was packed with gauze, in truth it was more central, just below his collar bone- the last bit exposed before the vest would've picked up to guard his 'vital' organs like his heart. "Then you tangled him in the lights and it was bright then smelled like he was being electrocuted, and he took the icepick out of your wound? Then you were on the floor?"

"Mmhmm… zackly… ray-d-o in… off-sir… down…"

"You radioed in officer down?"

"Din haf chans…"

"You didn't have the chance?"

"…To tiied fo thisss…"

"You want to sleep?"

Instead of a nod, Spencer nodded off. He awoke to harsh whispers in the corner of the room as a man in green scrubs chastised Aaron for some supposed upset he had caused. "Airn… too lou'…"

It sounded like he was slurring 'too loud' without the d to Aaron, so he gave a sharp look at the doctor before he approached the bed, the doctor came to his other side.

"Hi there Spencer, it's Dr. Green again. We met earlier, I heard you took your mask off earlier."

"D'd eye…?" if it were possible, he seemed even more drunk. "Sirree… … … Doc'r Gein…?"

Aaron made sure he didn't falter at the use of the infamous serial killer's name.

"…New-role-o-gee?"

Dr. Green nodded, "That's me. We spoke about a few tests I wanted to run, one included a PET scan and the other a comprehensive MRI and a CT scan with contrast dyes, ones we could use to directly compare to what your neurologist sent over."

Aaron's brows crinkled, he'd never heard Spencer mention a CT scan before, or a neurologist for that matter. He looked at his lover, the question poised on his lips.

"…Had head-aches… baddddd ones… wa'nt shure if 'ey were… skisso… skisso…fran…k… skissofrank… fran…" He closed his eyes sharply, frustration clearly apparent as he balled his hands into fists. "Skisso…fran…ic…" He slammed his hand into the rail and immediately winced, he pulled it to his chest to nurse the sore site.

"Spencer!" Aaron made a step forward, but the doctor raised his hand to stay him.

"Spencer, why did you hit your hand into that bar?"

"Cuss I can'n say… poor'tent… worse… GAH!" He grabbed at his own hair, he clutched and unclutched for a few moments, "Can member em… can'n say em…pen! Knee pen! PEN!"

Aaron drew his own from his lapel, he handed it to Spencer as the doctor studied him in silence.

Spencer hesitated with the pen in the air. His eyes fell softly and moved left to right as if in search for a memory, why this wasn't working… Aaron handed him paper before he could ask for it. The doctor glared at him momentarily. Spencer gawked at the object for just as long before he launched into essay.

He made it through half a page before his right hand cramped violently.

The doctor took it and began to read it to himself. "I see. Spencer may I take this with me?"

Spencer nodded, Aaron was frustrated not to see the labors of his lover's works, though he didn't voice the issue.

"Agent Hotchner, do you have Dr. Reid's messenger bag? Any samples of his writing, really, would suffice."

"Ledder… to mom… Airn… ledder to mom… fron… pockt… pock…t… fron…"

"Front pocket, got it." He handed it to Spencer who handed it to Dr. Green.

Dr. Green read over it quickly, not as quickly as Spencer, but still well under a minute. "…Your writing centers look fully functioning, even your hand coordination is on par. Spencer, how do you make toast? Write it, don't say it."

Spencer's hand scribbled for a moment. Aaron read over his shoulder, he couldn't help himself. 'Put bread in plugged in toaster, depress tab, wait until tab pushes bread up to dispense toast.'

"Spencer, how do you make toast?" He asked again, "Aloud if you would."

"T-toes… fum… bet…"

"Bet?" Aaron's brow wrinkled, did he mean bread? Or was he being wishful? They had said his reasoning had been incapacitated, was he really improving?

"Beg… bhaaaaag. Bag. Toast… from… bag."

"If I'm right, can you nod?" The doctor asked. Spencer nodded once. "Toast comes from a bag? That is what you're trying to say?"

Spencer closed his eyes, "…No… yez… yez." He nodded. "Toes in bag."

"Where do you get toast from? Do you buy it as toast?"

"In di'er… Airn!"

"Hey, shh, I'm right here." Aaron put an arm around Spencer's shoulder, his hand braced his head as he gave him a gentle hug.

"Bane… wronk… worse… worse nod speek wronk… speek wronk…Airn!"

"I know what you're saying, I do… I understand, Spencer."

"Jag… cah Jag… gh…ck. Cahl Jag-ck…"

"You want to call Jack?" Aaron wasn't sure if that was the best of ideas.

"No. YOU. Kissmas… Is kissmass… k…cur-cur-miss… cah Jag-ck. Payer. Knee payer."

"You need paper and I should call Jack because it's Christmas."

Spencer pointed with intent, as if signing 'that's right!'

"I called him earlier, while you were asleep, Spencer. He says he can't wait until we get back and said that the letter he wrote to Santa really got through. I'm not so sure I like the idea of Santa Claus any more though."

"Airn dough'n s'taht… s't… sit'… st-t…stah… stoo-pit…stuupit…" Spencer sent his hand in a fast rush into his own leg, he made a sharp contact and immediately to the action he set forth to do it again, Aaron and Dr. Green both in conjuncture to stop it.

"What are you doing? Spencer, calm down… CALM down!" Aaron managed to grab both of Spencer's wrists, he pulled them from his lover's loose grasp to pull them to his chest. His eyes were wet with tears.

"Spencer, you're getting worked up, if you continue to, we'll have to sedate you, do you understand that? Do you want to be sedated?"

"NO!" He spat, more to force the word out, or at least Aaron thought that, but he wasn't one-hundred percent on that interpretation.

"Will you hit yourself again?" The doctor asked, he waited for it to register, to see if his patient would affiliate consequence to action, he seemed to only have a block in the language, not the thought if it was routed through an alternate pathway. "Write it, will you hit yourself again?"

Angry black ink burnt into the white page. Aaron looked over at it. "Spencer, trying not to isn't good enough, you have to NOT do it."

His lover sent him a caustic look. He took the paper back and wrote on it again.

Aaron's eyes shot wide as he read over Spencer's shoulder.

"No. I'm not leaving." Spencer underlined the words a few times. "Spencer, I'm NOT leaving you alone here just because you feel self-conscious. You are anything but stupid and you _know_ that."

Spencer threw the pen and paper across the room, he turned to face the doctor and yanked the blanket upward, intent to ignore his lover and feign sleep. The way the heart-monitor raced, no one was fooled by his bluff.

"I'm going to leave and come back in a little bit when you've regained your composure, Spencer. Until then, try to rest."

Aaron was sure he saw Spencer actually flip the doctor off, though he had never seen Reid do that ever before.

"Reid!"

His lover's gloomy look he sent over his shoulder without a full head-turn sent a chill down Aaron's back, though he'd never own up to it.

"Spencer, he's right, you need to rest some more. Getting worked up won't help you get better. You're frustrated, you think I can't empathize? You're so used to using language to communicate so eloquently and right now you can't speak your words to convey your feelings, but that doesn't justify bad behavior. Do you realize how close you were to dying, Spencer? HOW close? Exactly just how close I was to losing you? I'm not leaving your side. It's a miracle you're AWAKE, give yourself some time to readjust, damn it."

He didn't think it was possible to shrink a 6'2" agent any further, but his lover managed to curl his head tightly into his chest in a defensive pose. He let out a sigh and brushed back some of Spencer's bangs. "The others are here. Did you… want them to come in at all? Or do you just want to catch some sleep?"

"No fiss-tours. Airn per-homas thad!"

"No visitors? You really think that'll fly? They're eventually going to sneak in, Spencer."

"AIRN!" He didn't miss the tears in his lover's eyes as he continued to speak, "No fiss-tours! Nod wiff speek this… no!"

Aaron stroked Spencer's hair, his arm, any extra contact, any touch he could to soothe the frantic man. "Alright, alright I'll keep them at bay for as long as I can."

Reid nodded twice meekly then went back to pretending he was asleep. After a while, he stopped pretending and actually did fall asleep. He awoke several hours later, he smelled eggnog and store-bought gingerbread cookies. He opened his eyes a crack and saw a familiar blond as she faced the wall.

"JJ…?" He tried to refocus his eyes, he spotted Hotch to his left.

"You're awake, good. The others valiantly waited six hours, I couldn't hold them back longer."

Reid looked around as if to gain more and more of his bearings, "Seafer?"

Hotch nodded.

"Ecknock?"

"And gingerbread men, the eggnog isn't spiked though regardless of how Dave and Derek think it should be."

Reid drew a hand over his face, "Airn, wan'em oud…"

"Spencer, everyone was worried about you, is worried about you, you can't just kick them out. It'll just be a few minutes, really. Then I'll convince them to go back to the hotel, ok?"

Reid nodded, "Jus a lil bid… ten minuds…"

"Yeah, ten minutes. That's all they need." He smiled, he doubted his word would hold any sway, but he'd give Reid lip-service for now.

Dr. Green came in within the first two minutes, disrupting Ashley as she hung up a string of tinsel. "Spencer? I wanted to talk to you for a little bit, are you up to that?"

"I 'm." He slurred, he looked around at the others with the hope they'd take the hint. They didn't seem to be willing to leave once they finally had gotten in though. He sent each of them a glare, each was intent to ignore it until Hotch cleared his throat.

He could see two sets of shoulders slump, Prentiss and Morgan's, surprisingly, and Rossi put his hand on Seaver's shoulder to lead her out.

"Yer stain…?" Reid asked to Hotch.

"Yes I'm staying."

He nodded and looked back to Dr. Green.

"Spencer, I have good news, your results are showing considerable improvement. The imaging is showing the damage is reversing itself. There will probably be some residual effects for the next few weeks, but it looks like you'll recover. I want to run at least one more PET scan in 24 hours, and if that looks good, we'll schedule an ambulance to transport you back to a hospital in Virginia."

"Waz mah speech?"

Dr. Green looked at him.

"Knee paper en pen."

The doctor obliged. Reid quickly scribbled out, 'Will my speech return to normal? And if so, when?'

"That's… hard to quantify, but it has been subtly improving. Spencer, verbally, how do you make scrambled eggs?"

"Ged ecks from fridge carack in bowl s'tir em up, pour in pan wif budder so they don' s'tick."

"Exactly, you've regained your ability to use verbal logic to progress a thought. Right now, the speech impediment could be mechanical, or from brain injury, or more likely- a combination. But your cognitive skills are returning at an amazing pace. Normally injuries like this, in stroke victims- they don't get this back. And those that suffer miniature strokes it can take months of therapy to get here and you're recovering in days. You're young, you're healthy, and you received excellent first aid and immediate medical care. It saved your life. Now, of course, we're going to want you to follow up, but for now, you need to rest and let your body heal itself."

He locked eyes with Hotch, as if asking him if he could somehow understand him, he was amazed the man seemed to follow him, but what about his complex thoughts? Would he ever be able to communicate those again so readily? "Soshodynamicks in curime suckjests our unsub waz raist wif a low income lefel, waz unwan'ed in hiz family, an raist by a may-tree-arc who waz abusife an en absendee father…"

Hotch put a hand to Reid's cheek, he watched him as he spoke carefully. "Reid, I understand you. I understand what you're saying… you don't have to be afraid, it's all there. It's still all there."

He wasn't so sure, himself. He could sense the doctor was fidgeting with different instruments and getting ready to leave.

"Sure-road-inkerz cat iz both debt en alibe…"

"Schrodinger? Reid…" He smiled as he gently stroked his lover's cheek. It was frightening how happy this made him. "…Are you stalling? Because the others are going to come back in once Dr. Green walks out. There's no stopping that."

"Sadistigally… is-key-mic strokes aggount for 87 percend of all strokes, en hemradic make up the remaininc 13 percend…"

He stared as Hotch's eyes twitched at the first word, "Sa…sadistigal- sda- sdah…" He heard the door click, and for a moment the two were alone.

"Statistically, no, I know what you're saying. I follow it, I do. Spencer, I know what you're trying to say, but you're not listening to me. I understand you. We will get through this, but you have to calm down. You need to rest and not focus on this, you need to calm down so you can heal, pushing yourself right now is only going to hurt you."

Hotch leaned in and kissed Reid gently before he pulled back. "The others are going to come in, it's Christmas, so we're going to have a small party, ok? Are you up to that for a little bit? I'll chase them out once you fall asleep."

Reid nodded. "Okay… I'd lige thad."

"Good. Merry Christmas Spencer."

"Merry Grismas Airn."

Fin


End file.
